Fall and Flight
by Simply Ubiquitous
Summary: Anthony Crowley stands accused of first-degree murder, and the death sentence is a tad too close for comfort. Thankfully in a case like this, one can simply plead insanity. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **_Good Omens_ and its characters belong to the authors Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett.

* * *

"Shit! Someone phone the head! Patient 4004's trying to fly again!"

"But his medication should have kicked in weeks ago!"

"He's on the rail!"

"Drag him down this instant!"

"He's resisting, sir!"

A noise from a doctor's buzzer irritably interrupted the scene. Once seeing whom the text was from, the doctor hurriedly read the message.

_TELL PATIENT 4004 TO GET DOWN. IT'S HIS TURN NOW._

* * *

Months before, in another room, in another building, in another town not so far away, a man paced across the room while the other lazily slumped against the wall. The pacing man looked considerably more worried than the other, his worry lines prominent on his forehead. The man against the wall, however, seemed vaguely amused by all of the aforementioned pacing. Though, it was rather hard to tell with the dark-colored sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose.

"They know, Crowley, " he sighed, wiping his hand over his face. "There's nothing more I can really do for you."

"Bullshit," Crowley said, waving his hand for emphasis. "I'm afraid that's not going to cut it. I didn't do anything. How was I supposed to know that bastard was so impressionable?"

"Why did you think it was a good idea to tell the guy to put a bullet through his boss's head anyway?"

"I was just giving him a fair warning about whom his wife was sleeping around."

"And then you gave him a gun?"

"I was drunk!"

The man in the middle of the room put his face into both his hands and inhaled sharply.

"Crowley... there is enough evidence that you are a conspirator in the murder to put you in prison for life, if not worse. The only way out is to plead guilty to reduce charges." Crowley's lawyer sighed heavily, walking over to lean on the table next to Crowley. His eyes suddenly lit up and he turned to face his client. "Unless..."

"Unless?"

"Insanity. You can plead insanity."

* * *

Early in the morning the next day, much earlier than Crowley would have preferred, he met his lawyer on the steps before a courthouse. He was about to face the judges and the jury for his trial. After their decision to plead insanity the day before, Crowley's lawyer went over the entire plan with him, giving him tips on how to appear crazy and coming up with explanations for any questions the judges might offer. Crowley had faith in the plan and kept his cool. His lawyer, however, seemed very uncomfortable and kept pulling at the collar of his shirt.

"Are you sure you remember everything, Crowley?"

"Calm down, it's not like it's your trial we're going to." Heaving an exasperated sigh, the lawyer simply shook his head and pushed open the doors to the courthouse.

"We only have one shot at this. Don't mess it up," murmured the lawyer only moments before the flashes from the press cameras blinded him. But only him. Crowley still had his sunglasses on, after all.

It didn't take long for the two of them to push through the crowd, but by the time they reached the courtroom, the court had already gathered. Not to mention the judge ("Judge Ligur," sighed the lawyer. "It's only natural that you get him.") was shooting them a particularly nasty glower.

"… Mr. Crowley," the judge said, frowning in a way that somehow managed to bare his teeth.

"Yesss, your honor?" he smirked.

"Any self-respecting lowlife would already know this, but seeing as you're the furthest thing from "self-respecting," I must ask you myself to remove your sunglasses as per court decorum."

"Can't," he said, propping his feet up on the table.

"... And why would that be?"

"I've got demon eyes," Crowley said blithely. A few sniggers rippled across the room at his reply, but they were quickly silenced by a dark glare from the judge.

"You honestly expect me to believe that?" Ligur grinned unpleasantly.

"Yessir. Don't see anything wrong with it though. Seems everybody's got them these days. You've got a lovely pair yourself. Nice bright orange color. Reminds me of home."

"Home?"

"Hell, sir," Crowley replied cheerfully. "Lots of flames. Lights up the place quite nicely, if you catch my drift. Maybe I've seen you there before."

"Maybe you have," Ligur said dismissively. Grinning from ear to ear, Crowley raised his feet up and put them back on the table. Crowley's lawyer rubbed his forehead and shot a look at his client. He couldn't help but notice how much Crowley seemed to be enjoying portraying a demon. Judge Ligur banged his gavel, and everyone turned their attention to him.

"As much fun as it would be to watch your little performance further, let us proceed with this trial."

"Oh, we're just getting started." Crowley's already wide grin seemed to grow even wider.

* * *

Months before the roof incident, Patient 4004 sat on the edge of his pristinely white bed. White walls surrounded him, and white tiles lined the floor beneath his feet. He slowly raised his head. White ceiling. White like the clouds in the place that was once his home. It had been far too long since he received word from any of the other angels. Far too long.

"Mr. Fell, your dinner is here!" Mr. Fell made no movement or response to the nurse, who he noticed was also wearing white. Seeing as this was an asylum for the mentally insane, this should be considered fairly normal. "Mr. Fell?" the nurse repeated, gently touching his shoulder. At this, Patient 4004 (also known as Mr. Fell or Zira to his friends, not that he needed any, thank you very much) turned his head slowly toward the nurse.

Blue eyes -kind eyes, deep eyes, empty eyes, ancient eyes- answered her. For a moment, the nurse could not move, but could only stare at those eyes. However, the moment abruptly shattered as Patient 4004 returned his attention to the ceiling.

"... Thank you," he replied in a voice that seemed hoarse from lack of use. "You're very kind."

"… I asked them about your request, Mr. Fell," she said, placing the tray on his nightstand. "About the books…"

His shoulders tensing, Patient 4004 wearily reached for the tray. Refusing to eat would only result in more… forcible action. He had learned that quickly enough.

"I'm sorry Mr. Fell, but the doctors said that the books would have to wait until later. They need to get you better first."

"But there's nothing wrong with me," he murmured. But in a louder voice, he turned toward the departing nurse and said, "Bless you, madam."

The nurse stared at the patient for a little bit, regretful of being unable to help him, and walked out of the room, quietly closing the door behind her. Zira used his fork (plastic and dull, to prevent any unwanted actions) to swirl around the mashed potatoes in the tray. Eating was unnecessary for angels, but the doctors would not listen no matter how many times he tried to explain this to them. He lifted some of the food to his mouth, and after eating a couple of bites, left the tray on his bedside table. He didn't feel like eating. He did, however, feel like attempting to communicate with his allies again. They should have come for him ages ago, how could they just leave him to waste time in this cold place? Unless, of course, this was part of the ineffable plan and he had a task to accomplish. There was only one way to find out. He just needed to get his hands on some candles and chalk.

* * *

"Watch the glasses!" Crowley twisted his neck and raised his bound arms to push his sunglasses further up his nose. The police officer pushed his back again.

"I said, keep walking!" Crowley huffed and stepped into a room with a lady sitting at a desk and rows of seats. The lady was dressed in a standard white uniform, while a nametag on her uniform read, "Nurse Mary Loquacious." Upon reading the nametag, Crowley had to stamp down the urge to snicker. A name like that sounded more like an unfortunate schoolgirl nickname that managed to stick. One of the police officers accompanying Crowley walked up to the nurse and handed her a folder. Nurse Loquacious, frowning, picked up the folder and leafed through it.

"Thinks he's a demon? Following the Devil's orders? Really? First the guy who thinks he's an angel, now this freak." Loquacious stamped a signature on the documents and stood up.  
"'Guy who thinks he's an angel'? Hah, seems like I'm not as original as I hoped," Crowley murmured to the lady when he was out earshot of the police officers. Nurse Loquacious eyed him from head to toe and scrunched her face in disgust.  
"Follow me, I'll show you where your room will be."

"I get my own personal room? How nice of you." Crowley flashed a bright grin. However, when he was standing a few minutes later in an open doorway, facing a small space with a bunk bed, a toilet, and a sink, his grin flew from his face.

"This isn't much better than a prison," Crowley said as he wavered in the doorway. A police officer undid his handcuffs, pushed him inside, and slammed the metal door behind him. His face appeared through the small barred window in the door. "You killed a man. What the hell did you expect?" The policeman disappeared, and Crowley sat down on the uncomfortable bed. He took off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes beneath.

"There's really no getting out of this the easy way, is there?"

* * *

"I don't buy it for a second," Hastur grunted, pouring himself another glass of whiskey.

"Bloody cop-out if I ever did see one," Ligur assented, downing his shot glass in one gulp. "But you have the bloody jury to bloody thank for that bloody verdict."

"And 'ere I was, lookin' forward to another execution," Hastur muttered.

"Shut yer yap. Nothin' much we can do at this point as it is. Stupid bastard's got himself all locked up with the loonies now. It's 'is own fault if he really starts goin' daft then." Tilting his head back for another shot, Ligur growled at his empty glass and threw it against the wall. "But…" he grumbled, slurring his words together. "You 'member what happens when they find out the truth 'bout him?"

"… That's when we get to… er… "execute" him, right?"

"That's right, mate. That's right."


	2. Chapter 2

A couple of weeks went by fast at the clinic. Crowley would wake up, be given breakfast through the opening in his door, swallow down the tasteless food, attempt to loosen the bars on his window, attempt to unlock the door to the hallway, attempt to break the small window in the door with the clock, give up, and lay on his bed until lunch. Today, he was sure he had figured out a way to unlock that damn door. He squatted down and peered out the small crack of the opening through which the nurses gave him food. The hall was empty. He removed a small metal wire he pulled out of the clock and pushed it through the crack. All of a sudden he heard voices and jumped, accidentally dropping the wire on the other side of the door.

"Mister? Did ya drop this?" Crowley looked again through the crack. Blue eyes surrounded by blonde curly hair stared at him.

"Uh. Who are you?"

"Just a visitor! Me and my friends here are going to visit Zira today. Are you new? I haven't seen you around here."

"Hey, Adam, I don't think talking to him is a good idea," a kid standing next to the blonde grabbed his arm and tried to pull him away.

"Well, why not? Don't boss me around! I'm in charge!" Adam pulled his arm loose and pushed the wire back through the crack into Crowley's room, narrowly missing Crowley's eye.

"Watch it, kid! You almost stabbed my eye out."

"Oh, sorry mister. What's your name?"

"Ugh." Crowley scratched his hair, what was he doing talking to children? He hated children. "If I tell you, will you leave me alone?"

"You are very unpleasant. I like Zira much better, he reads us books when we bring them to him," Adam sniffed. "Fine, we'll leave you alone if you tell us your name. So out with it."

"Crowley. It's Crowley."

"What kind of name is Crowley?" The little red-haired girl standing behind Adam burst into laughter at his question.

"Go away! I can't stand children!"

"You're welcome for the wire!" Adam yelled while following the rest of his gang down the hall. Crowley somehow knew this wasn't the last he would see of them, unfortunately.

"Damn kids," he muttered. Just what the hell were they doing in a psychiatric hospital? And who the hell was Zira? Rolling his eyes, Crowley lightly stroked the clock wire in his hand. Well, it wasn't his problem, was it?

… Still, those kids had been his first human contact in days.

Shaking his head, Crowley narrowed his eyes and resolutely squared his shoulders. Not his problem. The only priority he could afford here was to escape this hell-hole, get back to his lawyer, and hop on the first flight to Rio. Bending on his knees once again, Crowley peered underneath the door to see if any nurses were approaching. All was still. All was silent. Wait...

There were a single pair of footsteps. Light. Slow. Bare-foot, judging by the steady thumps that reverberated through the hall.

The owner of the footsteps beyond his sight, Crowley attempted to pinpoint the location of the source. The steps were steadily drawing nearer, and the light rustle of clothing could now be heard accompanying the figure. Sighing to himself, Crowley pressed an ear against the cell door.

The footsteps had stopped.

Weird. But then again, this was a mental asylum after all.

Attempting to shrug off the eerie feeling that had settled on his shoulders, Crowley reached for the clock wire once again. However, just when he was about to wheedle it through the crack once again… "Jesus Christ!"

A startling blue eye was peering at him through the crack.

"Demon."

"… What?"

"You're a demon," the figure murmured, as if speaking partly to himself. His voice was distinctly British, with the kind of accent that you would expect museum tour guides to have.

Remembering his facade, Crowley chuckled and replied, "Ah. So you must be the loony angel. Pleasure to meet you."

"Zira?! Zira, where are you?!" that boy (… Adam, was it?) called out. And by the sounds of it, he had the rest of his groupies helping him raise a racket.

"Zira?"

"Ziraaa?"

"Zira, where did you go?!"

"Sounds like you've got your own little search party going on," Crowley smirked.

"Yes, well-"

"There you are, Zira! We've been looking all over for you! How come you weren't in your room when we came?" A pair of hands helped Zira up from his seat on the ground.

"I thought I sensed something, my dear boy."

"Well you know you have to get back to your- Zira!" Crowley heard a thump as Zira's knees hit the ground.

"I'm okay, dear. I forget that these human bodies need food to function."

"When was the last time you've eaten?!"

"I can't remember too well..."

"Let's get you back to your room! Pepper, go get help from the main desk!" Crowley soon heard more adult voices appear in the hall and help the guy up and away to his room. A few minutes later, the sounds were gone.

"Poor guy. I sometimes forget that there are people here who are actually crazy." He sat down on his bed and decided not to make any more attempts at escaping, seeing how that Zira fellow had caused such an uproar among the workers.

* * *

For the next few weeks, Crowley attended all his therapy sessions, took all of his meds, and followed any orders. Eventually the doctors considered Crowley sane enough to be allowed to go into the cafeteria, but only under severe supervision. His new and improved escape plan was slowly fitting together, like an elaborate puzzle.

But while he waited to carry out his next step, he might as well have some fun in the asylum, messing with as many people as he could possibly manage. He finished up his lunch in the cafeteria and grabbed an apple from a table as he strutted out. His guards followed him.

"Hey guys, how about accompanying me for a walk in the garden? The weather's so niccce." He made sure to draw out the "s" sound; he really enjoyed doing that.

"I don't think we're allowed to do that. You might escape, you slippery bastard."

"Oh, come on! Look at those tall walls and barbed wire. The security's pretty much perfect. Half an hour won't hurt anyone." To Crowley's luck, one of his doctors was walking down the hallway in their direction and happened to overhear them.  
"I agree with Crowley. I think some fresh air will be good for him," said Dr. Sable, "Take him outside, but don't let him out of your sight."

The three guards nodded reluctantly and proceeded to escort Crowley through the double doors at the end of the hall. As soon as Crowley swung the doors open, bright light streamed through the opening, momentarily blinding the guards and even Crowley through his sunglasses. Crowley hissed in faked pain, for dramatic effect (and just for the hell of it, of course). As he entered the asylum's small enclosed garden, he took in his surroundings. The garden had a couple of trees and many kinds of flowers sprinkled here and there. It wasn't too big in size, but just enough to remind patients of what nature looked like. A radio in the corner of the garden quietly dragged out Freddie Mercury's voice.

_"... made in heaveeeen, made in heaveen, it was all meant to be, yeah. Made in heavveeeenn..."_

This was the first time Crowley was outside in a long time. He turned his head to observe the people present, and at once his eyes were drawn to a golden-haired man sitting on a bench under a big, sweeping willow. He had a book in his hands and seemed to be completely engulfed in it. Crowley blinked with recognition and put on his evilest grin. That was definitely Zira, the patient whom he had encountered a few weeks ago. Oh, this was going to be fun.

"Hey! Zira, right? The angel guy. What are you doing out here, I thought you weren't allowed out of your room or something," said Crowley as he approached the reading man. Zira slowly raised his head, and his eyes squinted with distrust and dislike.

"Demon. Now that I can see you in full, I am even more sure of it. What do you want with me?" He stuck a bookmark in his book and shut it, annoyed.

"Wow, I didn't expect angels to be so rude! I'm just socializing and making friends. I've been sitting in a room alone for the past month, I get bored by myself."

"Socializing? You mean tempting people to their damnation! I thought there was a reason I have been put into this asylum, and now I am sure there is one. It's to stop you and your evil ways." Crowley blinked as the man spoke. He sure was serious about this whole "angel" thing. He decided to sit down on the bench next to the angel, and he began eating his apple. Zira kept talking.

"Ever since I sensed your presence, I knew I needed to do something about you. I even began to follow all those silly suggestions the doctors have been giving me, such as 'eat' and 'sleep'! All of it just so they can let me out of my room." Zira made waving hand motions as he spoke to illustrate just how ridiculous he thought all of those actions were.

"I dunno, sounds like pretty good advice to me. I mean, I did all that they told me to do so I can get out of this hellhole as soon as I can. This place doesn't suit me at all."  
"Well, can't you get out of here right now? Why are you stalling?"

"Oh, did you not notice the brick walls surrounding us and the barbed wire on top of them? It probably even has a current running through it. I'd rather not get fried like a chicken." Wide-eyed, Zira looked at Crowley with disbelief.

"Can't you use your wings? Is something wrong with them?"

Chuckling lightly, Crowley shrugged nonchalantly and took another bite out of his apple. "Why don't you use yoursss? You are an angel, right? Occult powersss and all that?"

"We're ethereal," Zira sniffed indignantly. "Much unlike your vulgar lot. Your sole purpose is to sow the seeds of evil and discontent, warping the hearts of mortals. And it is my duty to thwart your wiles at every turn."

"Well, isn't that just peachy?"

"Hold your tongue, you serpent."

"And why should I do that? I'm having fun." Crowley would be lying if he said that Zira's attempt at a glower didn't amuse him just a bit. "You're too high-strung, angel. You should relax a bit." Holding out his apple to Zira, Crowley smiled like a snake. "Apple?"

Faster than Crowley could think, he found himself on the floor of the garden with an elbow pressed against his windpipe. Gasping for breath, he clutched the sleeves of the "angel's" uniform in an attempt to pry him away. "I told you, demon, to hold your tongue," Zira hissed, applying greater force against the man's throat. Losing more oxygen with each passing moment, Crowley roughly grasped his assailant's own throat, digging his thumbs into his Adam's apple. Each glared at the other with an unmatched hatred that had hardly been palpable a few moments before. "Look what you've made me do," Zira murmured in a voice that suddenly seemed far too old for him. But before Crowley could puzzle his meaning, Zira delivered a swift punch to his nose. There was a nasty crunch that reverberated through the entire garden, effectively drawing the attention of the security. However, as Crowley attempted to nurse his nose, he failed to notice Zira calmly standing and walking away. Then, there was another, louder crunch. And then suddenly-

Pain. Undiluted, concentrated pain. This time, Crowley could not hold back a scream. The lunatic had broken his leg. The fucking lunatic had broken his bloody leg.

"DAMN YOU," he howled, choking on the blood coursing into his mouth. "DAMN YOU, YOU FILTHY BASTARD. YOU'LL PAY HELL FOR THIS."

If A.J. Crowley hadn't been in such excruciating pain at the time, he might have felt a certain swell of delight as at least three security guards roughly grabbed Zira as another forcefully inserted a tranquilizer needle into his neck. But in his current state, all he could afford to do was breathe harshly through gritted teeth. Hacking out the blood that managed to slither down his throat, Crowley's eyes blazed behind skewed sunglasses.

* * *

A few hours later, in the doctors' lounge, a solitary doctor scribbled away in his binder. "Patient 1926," a thin voice murmured, lightly smearing smooth notebook paper with the oily ink of his pen. "You are quite the troublemaker, aren't you?"

"Did you review the tapes from this afternoon, Weiss?"

Sighing, Dr. Weiss dragged a greasy finger across his paperwork. "Patient 4004 has exhibited an intense animosity toward 1926."

"You don't say? Any explanations?"

"He says that 1926 is a demon."

"… And?"

"Are you really that thick, Sable?" a red-headed woman sneered, unceremoniously plopping herself on a desk that was littered with the remains of forgotten paperwork. "Or do we have to walk you through basic theology?"

"We won't need to do that, Scarlet ,I assure you," Sable chuckled dryly.

"Can't believe the bastard broke his leg and his nose though. Clean break and everything," Weiss muttered, lighting a cigarette. "Wonder where he got the practice."

"I'm sure his records are around here somewhere, if you're that curious," Dr. Sable replied as he swiped the cigarette with his thin fingers and crushed it under his heel. "And you know smoking is not allowed in here."

Rolling her eyes, Scarlet lit her own cigarette. "So, any orders from the head yet?"

Sighing deeply, Sable rubbed at his eyes. "Nothing yet. He seems interested in the case, but no instructions. Well, other than the constant supervision of course."

"Hm," she murmured, blowing a perfect ring of smoke. "You know, His son came back again today. Wanted to see 4004 again."

"… That Adam seems particularly fond of coming here."

"Please. They volunteer here every Saturday. They'll probably getting what- some kind of community award for this crap?"

"Just as long as they're not watching porn in the patient's room, there's nothing to worry about."

"Should we tell him about what 4004's done?" Weiss questioned.

"There's no need to inform a volunteer about every little happening that goes on while he's away," replied Sable. "And if 4004 behaves himself, he should be released from solitary by the time Adam comes back."

"And 1926? What about him?"

"His nose and leg are currently broken. I don't really think we can expect much trouble from him for a while."

* * *

"Famous last words," Crowley grunted. "Ow. Owowowowowowowow. Shit."

"Mr. Crowley. You're fine," the nurse said dryly. "Like I said, it'll only be for a few weeks. Surely you can handle a wheelchair for that long?"

"I can't feel my leg."

"That's because it's in a cast, Mr. Crowley."

"I can't feel my nose."

"Heaven forbid." Flipping through her clipboard, the nurse sighed. "You know, you're lucky that you're not joining that man in solitary. This hospital has a zero-tolerance policy toward violence."

"Oh yeah? And just what will they do the next time it happens?"

"Oh, I hope for your sake that there isn't a next time. You've been declared criminally insane, sir. You screw this up, you just might get the death penalty. Now, let me help you into your wheelchair."

Grumbling under his breath, Crowley reluctantly allowed the middle-aged nurse to plop him into a nearby wheelchair. "Now, if you need anything, the name's Nurse Tracy," she said, holding the door open for him. "I'm free on mornings only and Thursdays by arrangement."

"Mornings, Thursdays, got it," he muttered. Damn it, he could already see the security outside the door. So much for Operation Get-the-Hell-Out-and-Limp. Also commonly known as GTHOAL.

But as he wheeled himself out of the room, he was suddenly struck at just how smooth of a ride a wheelchair could be.

Looking down at the armrest, he read the label: #1926 Bentley. A grin slowly spread across Crowley's face. Yep. This was worth breaking a leg.


	3. Chapter 3

"Mr. Fell? Mr. Fell!" the security guard said sharply. "Mr. Fell, you are to look at me when I speak to you."

Zira regarded the security guard blankly. They were all the same. All rough voices and rough hands. So much unlike the gentle natures and blissful smiles of the heavenly hosts above. He missed them. All of them. Even Gabriel. Were they watching him right now? They were depending on him to complete his mission, after all. Shouldn't have someone checked up on his progress, then? Maybe they were disappointed in the way that he handled the demon. Maybe he shouldn't have resorted to such violent means so quickly?

No. That thing would have torn him apart eventually if he hadn't gotten to it first. Demons were like that. No honor amongst thieves, and all that. Reason was lost among demons. They only understood the deep, dark things of the world, and willfully denied the light. They preyed on the innocent and sought to spread corruption. The world was better off without such beings. Wasn't it his duty to guide the world? To help those in need? To thwart any wile that might come his way? But look where that had gotten him. Locked in a cell again. As there were no windows, he had no idea how much time had passed since he had first woken on the cold, cracked flooring. No light, save for a sole, flickering bulb. At least the humans had decided not to use restraints this time around.

… Why wouldn't they just listen to him?

"Patient 4004!" the guard barked, banging his fist against the metal wall. Starting at the racket, Zira blinked rapidly at the sudden inpouring of light from the open doorway. "Someone's here to see you."

Eyes widening, Zira unconsciously clenched his hands into the pants of his baggy uniform. Slow, calculated steps echoed from the hallway. Light from outside the room clung to the figure, effectively shadowing the man's features.

"M-M-Metatron?"

Clicking his tongue disapprovingly, the man waved the guard away as he entered the cell. As the door screeched shut, he cast narrow eyes on the prostrate man before him. "You have regressed in your progress, Mr. Fell," he said thinly.

"S-sincerest apolo-"

"And not only that, but you have brought physical harm upon another patient. I trust you understand our… attitude toward those that exhibit such violence?"

"Y-yes but-"

"Zira, you must understand. Such traits are not befitting of you. We will have to take measures to make sure this does not happen in the future."

"Sir! I promise I will change my behavior! Please don't do anything more, you can trust me. I now understand what you want me to do." Yes, he understood indeed. Heaven didn't want him using violence to get rid of the demon, then they must want him to simply... reform him. He couldn't imagine how he was supposed to do that, but if Metatron said so, he had to find a way.

The man standing in the doorway shot a fierce look at his patient sitting on the ground.

"If we see improvement, you will be out of here sooner than you expect. Do not disappoint us, Zira." He turned to walk out of the room.

"Yes, Metatron." The man exiting froze in place.

"Oh, yes... Zira, you really must learn my name correctly. The name's Ron. I've told you this countless times." He shut the door, and Zira entered darkness again.

* * *

"He's headed this way! Run down that hall and intercept him!"

"That damned snake, how did he even get past the guards?"

"I can't run in these heels!" Three nurses, running down the hallway, split up in different directions. Nurse Tracy turned right, and nearly collided with a wheelchair going at approximately 30 mph.

"He's here, and he's heading south! Bloody hell, how can he even go that fast?"

Crowley, cackling, gave another push to the wheels, and sped past Nurse Loquacious, who appeared out of another hallway.

"You'll never catch me! This baby was built for ssspeed!" He turned another corner, nearly bumping into the wall.

"So long, nurses! Sssee you when I see- OH SHIT-" Crowley swerved and barely avoided hitting Dr. Sable, but managed to crash into a wall instead.

"That can't be good for your injuries. And what are you even doing out of the cafeteria during lunch time?" Dr. Sable loomed across Crowley, who was strewn across the floor next to his tipped-over wheelchair.

"Um... doing exercises? Practicing for the wheelchair Olympics?" Crowley gave a small grin and shuffled toward his wheelchair. Dr. Sable seized him by his arm and pulled him up.

"Back to your room. Right now. I'm suspending you from cafeteria privileges for a week." Crowley frowned but obediently sat down and wheeled away in the direction of his room, accompanied by a seriously pissed off Nurse Tracy. As he turned a corner, he saw a glimpse of familiar sandy-blonde hair at the opposite end of the hall. He glared in his direction, and after rolling a few feet closer, he was finally sure. It was the damn angel freak.

"HEY!" The figure quickly turned around, looking like it was trying to hide.

"YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM ME, YOU WINGED NUISANCE. GET OVER HE-" Nurse Tracy slapped a hand over Crowley's mouth.

"You idiot! Do you know what will happen if you get in a fight again? Did you not listen to a single word that I told you?!"

"Calm down, lady! I just want to have a nicccee, long, pleasant chat with the bastard who broke my nose and leg. I swear I won't hurt him. What could I do, kick him with my cast?" Nurse Tracy rolled her eyes as she gave his wheelchair a gentle nudge.

"You're not going anywhere, young man. Doctor's orders," Tracy said firmly, pointing Crowley toward his room.

"Now, let's not be hasty," Crowley replied, trying to regain a semblance of control. "Can I at least say good-bye to my bastard of a friend before you lock me away?"

"No."

"Come on! Just a simple, 'Good morning'. Since when has that hurt anyone?!"

"Not falling for that one." As Tracy started to wheel him away though, Crowley spotted the angel's eyes peer above the counter he was hiding behind. Dithering idiot.

"Let's just get to-"

"ANGEL. DIDN'T YOU HEAR ME THE FIRST TIME? I'M GOING TO TEAR YOUR STUPID LITTLE WINGS OFF- Ow! What was that for?!"

"Shut your trap, Crowley. Now, would you please stop harassing that poor man?"

"That poor man broke my leg, in case you've forgotten," Crowley muttered underneath his breath. The caked make-up on her forehead crinkled as Tracy slightly narrowed her eyes. About to send her own retort, Tracy started at the sound of plates crashing from the direction of the cafeteria.

Hearing an elderly man's curses echo through the hallway from the same direction, Tracy gave an affectionate smirk. "That'll be Janitor Shadwell," she chuckled. "Such a dear." Suddenly, she snapped her eyes toward Crowley and shook her finger in a manner Crowley presumed she thought was motherly. "Now, be a dear and stay put. It'll only take a moment to put Mr. Shadwell back into sorts. Surely you can manage to avoid getting into trouble for that long?"

Walking away before the wheelchair-bound patient could fire a retort, Tracy made her way toward the cafeteria. Crowley narrowed his eyes at her retreating form. As if he would obey any orders from a nurse dimwitted to leave a presumably-insane murderer alone. It would serve her right if she lost her job for this.

Now, where had that loony friend of his gone?

A flash of sandy hair caught his eye. Turning his head, he watched as Zira rounded the corner at the other end of the hall, presumably to his room. If that little bastard of an angel thought he was going to get away that easily…

Following Zira as stealthily as one could in a wheelchair, Crowley watched as the patient entered his open cell at the end of the corridor. Luckily for Crowley, the hallway split in two directions, allowing him to peer around the corner without fear of being spotting by the angel- er, Zira.

Crowley winced. This place was really getting to him. One moment, he's just a run-of-the-mill criminal pleading insanity, and the next he's already addressing the patients according to their delusions. Great.

Soon enough, Crowley heard the ang- Zira's footsteps fade as he walked into a room. Presumably his own, of course. That's it. It was now or never. The ang- DAMN IT- Zira was finally alone, and the hallway seemed perfectly devoid of any that might… disrupt his confrontation.

Wonderful. Crowley grinned. It was time for that menace to get a taste of his own medicine. Although, he had to admit that the wheelchair took away a good amount of the intimidation factor.

Rolling his way as menacingly as he could toward Zira's room, Crowley suddenly started as he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the hallway.

"Crowley?! I told you quite frankly to stay put!" a familiarly-shrill voice echoed through the hallway.

"Dammit," he muttered. Looking around frantically for a place for him to hide, he quickly wheeled himself into the janitor's closet. Shutting the door behind him, Crowley pressed an ear against the door as he listened to Tracy's steps begin to fade away. Soon enough, the _clack-clack_ of her stumpy heels disappeared altogether. Crowley breathed a sigh of relief.

"Hiding, are we?" a rather nasally voice questioned.

Nearly falling out of his wheelchair, Crowley whirled his head to the speaker. But rather than the burly security guard he expected to see, there was only a gangly man, sitting on an overturned bucket, that appeared to be reading something titled _Mechanics for Dummies_.

"… You're the mechanic for this hellhole?" he asked cautiously.

"Sure am. Name's Newton Pulsifer. Call me Newt though, everyone else seems to." Grunting dismissively, Crowley opened the door a crack to peer outside.

"A decent person would have exchanged their own name by now."

"I'm not exactly a decent person."

"… So what's stopping me from calling security right now?"

Turning his head back toward Newt, Crowley raised his eyebrows in what he hoped appeared as indifference. "Tell you what. You don't call security on me, and I won't tell your friends about your choice of reading material." Watching Newt open and close his mouth soundlessly, Crowley gave him a small smirk. "Knew we could reach an agreement. Nice talking to you, Newt." And with that, he wheeled out of the closet with as much casual dignity that he could muster.

Zira had long left the room by the time Crowley finally managed to enter. Huffing in irritation, Crowley set about snooping around the room. After all, if he couldn't get to Zira at the moment, then maybe he could "alter" some of his possessions while he was gone. As he let the door click shut behind him, Crowley sniffed skeptically at the threadbare nature of the room. The maniac's sole window was barred and his mattress thin. There was a door on the left side of the room that presumably led into an attached bathroom. Sweeping his eyes across the room one more time, Crowley glimpsed something protruding from under Zira's mattress. A closer examination revealed, of all things, a book. Well, there went the hopes that the bastard kept a knife in his bed. At least Crowley could have stabbed the bastard with that. Rolling his eyes, Crowley took the book in his hands and languidly ran his hand across the embossed cover. Boring. You would think that a psycho like Zira would have had more interesting items hidden. Not just a book that _reeked_ of dust.

Oh well. Seeing as the angel himself wasn't here, there was just no helping it. Adjusting his sunglasses, Crowley opened the book and deftly ripped a page out.


	4. Chapter 4

Crowley woke up the next morning, sunshine shining on his face and birds chirping in the distance. He just knew today would be a good day. He was finally going to be allowed outside after his previous shenanigans, and he planned to explore more of the garden to find any weak points in the security. He hoisted himself out of bed and into his wheelchair and wheeled up to the door to retrieve his breakfast. His tray was left on the table by the door, since he was still asleep when the nurse had walked in. As he picked up the tray, a harsh shrieking resounded.

"You bastarrdddddddd! I know you're in there! Get out here so I can break your other leg, demon!"

Crowley, nearly dropping his tray in surprise, backed away from the door. "...Zira? How the hell did you manage to get over here? It's barely even morning!"

"What does it matter? I snuck out of my room. I know my way around here. Now open the door, so that I may give you retribution!" the angel whispered harshly on the other side of the door.

"Bloody hell, it's too early in the morning for this. What did I even do this time?"

"What did you even-?! You stupid-" Zira raised the volume of his voice but immediately quieted down when he heard footsteps farther down the hall. Crowley stayed completely still, hoping that Zira would get caught and leave him alone.

The footsteps died out, and suddenly his door shook violently.

"I. Said. Let. Me. IN! You coward!"

"Alright, alright! Just shut up already! I'm not afraid of you!" Crowley rolled over to the door and threw it open, and an angry angel tumbled into the room and onto the floor. He held a dusty book in his right hand, and a torn page in his left.

"Oh. That. The book."

"Yes. The book. You ruined it." Venom dripped from each word Zira said.

"Is it really such a big deal? It's just a dumb book," Crowley yawned. "Now scram, mmkay?" The Bentley received an angry kick for that statement. "Hey! Don't hurt the baby!"

"_Don't hurt the baby!_" Zira mimicked in a nasally voice as they scowled at each other. "It's just a dumb wheelchair!"

Sighing, Crowley nonchalantly rubbed his eyes behind his sunglasses. "I'll be honest with you. It's too early in the morning for this. Come back later, and I'll be more than happy to argue or tempt or deceive or whatever it is I do."

"No. We settle this now."

"Now?" Crowley leered. "And here I was, under the impression that you were an angel."

"I am!"

"Sure you are," he said, rolling his eyes. "So, should I assume that angels usually covet dusty old books?"

"It's not covet-!"

"And am I supposed to assume that they seek to strike the lame?"

"But you see-" Zira sputtered.

"Not only that, but they advocate attacking the helpless as well?"

"Now see here-!"

"My, what is this world coming to?" Crowley said amusedly, inspecting his nails. "So much for heavenly honor and all that."

"Then what, pray tell, would you have me do?" Zira huffed, crossing his arms. "I can't have a demon running around tempting others to sin."

"And I can't have an angel going around and breaking every bone I have."

"Ah…" Zira said, nervously twiddling his thumbs. "I am sorry about that, you know. Don't know what came over me. I'm not usually prone to that sort of violence."

"Tell that to my broken leg," Crowley muttered darkly.

"I truly am sorry, dear. I don't know how else to put it."

Crowley's eyes narrowed in glee as he glimpsed the perfect opportunity and struck. "How about this… You swear that there'll be no more of this "smite-y angel" crap?"

Closing his eyes in thought, Zira tapped a finger against his lips. "Only if you promise me that you won't go about tempting people to damnation."

"Nothing ssso serious, I assssure you," Crowley grinned.

"And stop hissing, dear. It's unbecoming."

Crowley extended his hand. "Alright, let's shake on it. No smiting, no tempting. Deal, angel?" Zira eyed the hand suspiciously, and wrought his hands.

"Oh come on, it's not as if you're making a deal with the devil!" Crowley said, receiving a harsh glare from Zira. "Well, not literally at least." He grinned and extended his hand further. Zira reluctantly took it and shook.

"I just know I'm going to regret this somehow."

"Nonssensssse!"

"I told you, no more hissing!"

* * *

In another hall, in another part of the asylum, a young lady shuffled down the hall in the direction of the garden. Her long asylum robe dragged behind her on the ground, dirty and worn from being stepped on. Her hair fell in her eyes, unbrushed, and every once in a while she would wave her arm at the air, as though chasing away an annoying fly. She was heading out to get some fresh air in the garden, but there was one tiny problem. She could not remember where the garden was.

"Not this door." She said as she pulled at a door, finding out it was locked. She headed to the next door and swung it open.

"WHO ARE- CLOSE THE DOOR. CLOSE THE DOOR THIS INSTANT."

"Bathroom." She closed the door dismissively and headed to yet another door. This time, the door led to a small closet filled with cleaning substances. It was one of the many janitor closets in the asylum. An old, angry-looking man stood in the middle and turned to face her.

"An' who ar' ya? What's yer name?"

"Anathema, sir. Could you possibly direct me to the garden?"

"Garden, eh?" He took a deep sigh and got a can of something that looked a lot like condensed milk off the shelf, mumbling something about "dang loonies wandering into his office."

"Alright, my lad here'll direct yer there, won't ya?" He pointed to a dark corner of the closet. Anathema squinted, as she was pretty sure that there was only one man in the room. Suddenly, the boxes stacked up shook as a dark, skinny figure rose out of them. Anathema started in surprise, about to shriek.

"Oh! I'm sorry, didn't mean to startle you. My name's Newt, I can help you find the garden." He stepped out to Anathema and smiled slightly. Anathema raised her hand to her forehead, feeling another bout of voices coming on.

"Newt... Newt. Thank you Newt, that would sure be.. helpful."

"Uh.. are you alright?" He wavered in place, unsure of whether to help her or to back away.

"Really? Him? Oh, _shut up_, Agnes! I don't want to hear about this. Now you're just making stuff up. Bloody witch." Anathema waved her arms, attempting to dispel the voice. Newt glanced around, hurriedly pushing Anathema out into the hallway, a call of _"loonies, damn loonies!"_ following them out.

"Er… so do you go to the garden often"

"You ever burned a witch before? At the stake, I mean? Agnes keeps insisting that you have."

"Erm, not particularly. It's not really a, uh, habit."

"She's also telling me that you've been trying to count my nipples since we've left the other janitor."

"Well, how many do you have?"

"You certainly don't waste any time prying into people's personal issues."

"I didn't mean to offend-"

"You didn't offend me. You offended _Agnes_. You should probably apologize." Newt couldn't help but stare blankly at her after that. Tapping her foot on the ground, Anathema crossed her arms and stared expectantly at him. "Well, come on. She's not exactly the most patient woman. She'll leave if you take to long, and that'll just give her more time to stew over how offensive you are. And that'll just result in more headaches. When she's like that, you see, she likes to rant and rave to me for hours."

"Well then," Newt said, clearing his throat. "I sincerely apologize to Agnes. There. I hope she won't give you too many headaches now."

"I hope so too."

"Ah, and here's the garden."

"Indeed."

As he opened the door for her, Newt suddenly noticed how lonely she seemed in that moment, despite her ancestor's constant presence. Maybe…

"Anathema…."

"Hmm?"

"Do you think… would it be okay if… Could we talk for a bit longer? If Agnes is fine with that, of course."

"I don't see why not. Just as long as you put your witchhunting days behind you."

"Of course," he smiled, relieved that he hadn't managed to screw up this one conversation with a female. "How about we sit over by the tree, then?"

"Not today. The angel and the demon are already sitting there. Have you met them before?"

"I've had the distinct displeasure of meeting Crowley last week, and I've run into that Zira man a couple of times before as well. I heard that they're trying to kill each other."

"Well, a healthy debate never hurt anyone" Anathema said, watching Crowley and Zira motion furiously at each other.

"There are a couple rumors floating around that say that the boss is keeping a close eye on that Crowley guy. They say that he pleaded insanity in a trial in order to avoid the death sentence."

"The rumors are true." Smirking slightly at Newt's incredulous expression, Anathema twirled a wisp of hair around her finger. "There's a lot that the doctors say in front of us. They think that we can't understand them."

"More the fools they are," Newt said, giving a slight chuckle. "Now, how about we sit on that bench over there?"

* * *

"Be-bop? Be-bop? Angel, I swear, you are possibly the most outdated thing since inserting floppy disks into disc drives. No one, and I mean no onecalls Queen, and I quote, 'be-bop.'"

"Well, if the staff would stop playing that absolutely garish music in this place, maybe I would give it a kinder name," Zira huffed.

"I'll agree that the damned staff needs to stop blasting continuous Queen in here, but you're completely missing the point!"

"Which is?"

"The term "be-bop" is never to be uttered by you again. Shit, how long have you been here anyway?"

"Ten years." Crowley's eyebrows shot up.

"How many?"

"You heard me!" Zira sniffled and crossed his arms. "I've been here for ten years."

"So.. is that when you started thinking you were an-" Zira shot Crowley a dark glare "-fine, is that when you realized that you were an angel?"

"...Yes. I had known that I was different since I was little. I refused to get in fights, rarely socialized, and mostly read books. After I finished school, I opened up a small bookshop and lived a quiet life. However, I was contacted by above!"

"Contacted by above," Crowley repeated, unbelieving.

"Yes! Metatron."

"Metatron? An angel or something?"

"The voice of God! How can you, a demon, not know that?"

"Well uh.. you know, I'm very low-rank. The higher-ups don't like telling us things. Intelligence is the enemy of a tyrant, and all that."

"Alright then. But yes, Metatron contacted me and informed me that I'm an agent of the heavens, placed on Earth to control and thwart the opposition. The opposition being you and your kind."

"And you.. just believed it?"

"Well of course I was suspicious at first!" Zira explaimed. "Metatron explained that when I got this body, my memory malfunctioned because I was not fully compatible. Small problems arise here and there from it. Like my constant need to eat and my incredibly weakened angelic power." Crowley listened quietly, observing Zira. Whenever they talked about normal things, Crowley often forgot that Zira did in fact believe all this. He was now again reassured that Zira was definitely not in his right mind.

"But what if the conversation with Metatron was not in fact what you thought it was?" Crowley felt some sort of duty to convince Zira that he was wrong.

"What, do you now think I'm crazy too? How can you, who is in the same position as me, doubt me?"

"No, that's not-"

"Or do you not actually think you are a demon? Is that it?" Zira was now standing, furiously motioning to Crowley.

"I do! I am a demon, sent to Earth to oppose your forces, and to cause mischief in general. I don't think you're crazy," Crowley spoke as earnestly as he could, staring Zira in the eyes. He felt guilty for lying to him, but he was afraid to make him angry again, right after they had come to terms. Zira's eyes softened, and he plumped back down next to Crowley, putting his face in his hands.

"Thank you. You know, I'm so glad that I found someone who truly understands me. Even if you are a demon. I've been so alone ever since ten years ago, so ostracized by everyone. Many times I did think that I was insane. But I just feel so sure about this. I've never been this sure of anything. It's like my whole life before was an elaborate lie. Like my actual memories were taken out and replaced with these fake ones." He sighed, turning to face Crowley. "Well, that's enough of my musings for today! Did you want to talk about anything, my dear? Share your story?" Crowley looked away.

"Uh, no it's fine. We should probably go back inside, it's getting dark." Zira smiled and stood up, reaching his hand out to Crowley. Crowley took the hand reluctantly and followed him. Farther down the path, a girl and a mechanic sat together, observing the pair as they went inside.

"You know, it's actually a pretty sad story." Anathema smiled sadly. Newt scratched the back of his head.

"Huh? What story?"

"Oh you know, of those two over there. Agnes tells me so. Not a happy ending. Pity, I quite like that Zira fellow." Anathema stood up, turning around to face Newt. "Well, thank you for keeping me company. I should get back too, they'll be rounding us all up soon anyway." She paused, looking up into the air and frowning all of a sudden. "What? You don't say. Really. Alright, alright." Newt looked up puzzled, still not used to Anathema's one sided conversations with her ancestor. Anathema looked back down at him. "She says this is inevitable, so I might as well get it over with."

"What? What's inevitabl-" Newt froze in his place as Anathema bent down and placed her lips down on his. She pulled back and smirked at the frozen boy, and walked back into the building without a word. Newt would remain sitting on that bench until his superior Shadwell would find him three hours later, murmuring about "dumb ol' boys gettin' involved with the damn loonies."


End file.
